


Mare Nostrum

by TheRealSokka



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Adventure across the Mediterranean, Antiquity AU, Final Pairings yet undecided, Friendship, Multi, Mythological and Mortal Adversaries, Percy has a Ship, Roman Civil War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSokka/pseuds/TheRealSokka
Summary: In 31 BC, Rome is on the brink of war. Nico di Angelo, for his part, hadn't thought it would involve him in any way. Nor did he expect to suddenly find himself on a ship with some of the strangest people he's ever met; sailing across the Mediterranean to stop a mysterious evil from taking advanatge of the chaos in the Empire.(Heroes of Olympus-style adventure; full summary inside)
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. The Ghost of Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. I don't normally do long introductions, but bear with me. It won't take a minute.
> 
> First, this is basically an attempt to write a full Heroes of Olympus-style novel set in ancient Rome/Greece starring the established characters, though slightly tweaked. I already wrote most of this months ago, but now found the time to get back to it. Be warned though; I tend to take a long time in between updates.
> 
> Second, about the story itself: It's set in 31 BC and for those savy in Roman history, that puts it right in the middle of (one of) the civil war(s). It's a fascinating episode of history in itself, for those who are interested. That won't take up the entirety of the narrative, but brushes with it will be unavoidable for the Olympus crew. I was looking for a historical and mytholical backdrop that hasn't been explored in Riordan's novels yet, to tell a somewhat original story. That said, I haven't read Trials of Apollo or anything afterwards, so perhaps some of the creatures/stories that I'm using have shown up there.
> 
> Third, characters. Nico, Annabeth and Percy will be the main POVs - I just enjoy the three of them too much. I'll add more character tags as this goes on. There's a few ideas for pairings, but I've got no 'endgame' in mind yet.
> 
> Oh, and I obviously don't own any of these characters, aside from a few that might jump onboard later.

Rome, as a city, was very different from others. Or so people who’d been to other cities said. And they were probably right: Rome was large, grand. Exciting. Most strikingly, though, it was loud. That part couldn’t be denied.

“And I say to you; it has only begun!” the richly robed man shouted down from his podium, gesturing to the crowd. He was rather small; had people just passed him in the streets, they would have barely noticed him. Not so now. His red _toga_ had once been draped orderly around him, but was now growing increasingly dishevelled the longer he talked, and no one, least of all him, paid that any mind. There was conviction in his voice and gestures, his face was red with excitement. Spittle flew from his mouth. “Rome stands in dire peril!”

The crowd murmured uneasily. It had swelled to a good hundred, crowding the small square. Four narrow streets converged here in between the tall, red-brick domitias and all of them were blockaded. Effectively, they’d have blocked anyone from getting past, if those passers-by hadn’t also stopped to listen. Adding to their low murmurs and the preacher’s shouting were the merchants, whose stalls had turned into little islands in the sea of bodies and who were trying to make the best of the situation by loudly advertising their wares to anyone within earshot. The entire square hummed with human noise.

Somewhere in the midst of it, a boy pushed further to the front to get a better view. He was small, dressed plainly, and completely ignored; his short bob of black hair barely came up to people’s shoulders. His small stature also meant that he was able to weave in between and underneath the gridlocked mass, however, and he made full use of this. With a little bit of shoving, he managed to come within twenty feet of the podium. And he watched.

Unlike the people surrounding him, Nico di Angelo’s attention was distributed across the entire goings on in the square and not focused only on the main actor of the piece, captivating though he was. The boy licked his lips. The situation spelled opportunity and danger, and there were a lot of necessary details to notice: Nervous hands rubbing together; muffled, fearful conversations; weapons hidden on belts right next to coin purses. In the crowd, he saw men and women from all layers of society; rich merchants and street beggars; scarcely dressed pleasure girls and senators’ wives. And all of them clung to the lips of the frantic, pot-bellied man on the podium, giving murmurs of assent whenever he paused for breath. The man was good. And he demanded everyone’s attention.

“Do you think you have seen the depths of depravity? Whatever you might have seen; it does not compare to the shameful, the outrageous actions of our former _great protector_! Shameful!” The preacher’s hoarse voice seethed with malice.

An empty chest stood at his feet podium, in reach of the crowd. A donation chest. Nico silently rolled his eyes; he couldn’t help it. No matter what they were preaching, men like this one always had one of these things sitting there, as he knew by now. Any depravity could be connected to something that needed funding. The preacher would get to it in a minute. And if he continued wrapping the crowd around his finger like this, the chest would undoubtedly indeed soon be filled with their possessions. Behind the podium, Nico spied a couple of identical chests. If the burly men with knives on their belts who were guarding them were anything to go by, the preacher was not doing this for the first time today.

“Never before has Romulus’ legacy been besmirched in this manner!” the man continued. “To have the capital of this great, great empire be moved to a savage, desert land; into uncultured, savage hands. Inconceivable! Yet this traitor, this,” the man spat out the words, “ _Marc Antony_ , would have it be so; would sacrifice Rome on the altar of his desires! And for who; I ask you?”

Uneasy murmurs; a few angry shouts.

“For an Egyptian whore; a woman without an honest bone in her body; a woman who seduced him with her fowl magic, like she tried to seduce the great Caesar before him!”

It was the most common theme these days; and Nico had heard variants of it at least a dozen times already. Some of them had been that compelling as to make him want to go to war himself, and this preacher got close to that effect, too. Every person within a hundred feet was looking at him. Including the guards who were supposed to be protecting his earnings. Nico, alert to the opportunity, quietly shrunk out of the crowd and along the side of the podium. No one paid him any mind.

The high buildings around the square cast the back of the podium in half-shadow: not as visible as a guard would have liked, but normally not nearly dark enough for a thief. But now when everyone was looking the other way… Nico’s heart was starting to beat faster. This was the most reckless – or the most stupid – thing he had ever attempted. The sensible, the safe option would have been to target one of the merchants: in the gaggle of bodies, no one would have noticed something missing until it was far too late. But he had set this aim for himself today, and he didn’t want to back down now.

“But Caesar’s heir will not allow it. Oh no! He will bring this snake in human skin to justice! Once he is consul, everyone who dares side with Rome’s enemies will burn! He will not hesitate to defend our legacy – Caesar’s legacy! – no matter the cost, no matter the risk.”

The preacher’s guards were transfixed on his voice; their weapons hanging forgotten at their belts. Evidently, they hadn’t been hired for their smarts. The treasure chest wasn’t even locked. Nico, one eye kept on the podium, dove his hand inside, coming up with a small fortune in _denari_ and _assés_. Not enough for anyone, least of all the preacher, to notice they were gone, but more than enough to last him for a few weeks. He quickly stuffed them into his pockets and quietly shrunk back in between the market stalls.

The preacher, nearing the point he had been working towards, looked over the crowd. “So I ask you: Who is truly worthy of defending Rome in this dire time? Who will you give your support?!”

“The heir! The heir!” the crowd shouted back.

“Octavian!”

“Octavian!”

Nico made his quiet exit. While his ears rang with the lasting cries of the name, his pockets jingled merrily.

* * *

The thieves’ hideout didn’t look like one from the outside. It was little more than a small crack wedged between the sandstone building and the rocks that marked the foot of the Palatine Hill. Only when Nico pressed against the stone and soundlessly slipped inside did the small crack open up into a spacious cavern; big enough to house a small fighting pit. The walls were rough, uncut basalt, and Nico guessed that it had to be a natural formation, because there had been no signs of man-made stonework at the time when he’d first entered here. Aside from the graffiti of the new inhabitants, of course.

On the far side of the cavern, a figure sat hunched over a candle. Their back was turned to Nico; they hadn’t heard him come in. Metal gleamed in the flickering light as the person inspected it in their palms. The tell-tale clink of coins echoed when he tossed it at the walls.

Nico cleared his throat loudly.

The boy whipped around as if he’d been stung. A knife flashed in his hand and he was about to swing it at the intruder before his eyes properly focused on Nico. Nico raised his hands in defence.

“By all the gods!” the other cursed. He sheathed his knife back into his belt. “You have to stop doing that, Ghost.”

“You have to start getting used to it.” Nico shot back.

The boy grunted. He was a couple of years older than Nico – not that you would know it by looking at his face. Even now after being surprised like this, it held an almost childlike, half-innocent glee. There was always a smirk on those lips and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Sometimes it made Nico wonder how he could possibly be such a successful thief. Every just half-observant person would take one look at him and realize he was up to something.

“Hey; our apprentice has returned!” a second voice called from above. In a rain of pebbles, a second thief jumped down from his alcove and landed in front of Nico. In looks, clothing and mischievous smile, he was an identical copy of the first. “How’d it go? Did you make a decent grab?”

“You might say that.” Nico smiled proudly. He reached into his pockets and spilled out his ‘decent grab’.

The twins’ eyes went as wide as saucers. One of them – Travis, Nico thought, though he was never quite sure – reached for a silver _denar_ and bit down on it experimentally. He nodded, visibly impressed. “Nice. We’re rubbing off on you. Which poor old lady did you rob for this one, pray?”

“The one on the podium, spouting about Caesar’s glorious heir.”

Connor Stoll (probably) snorted. “A preacher? Oh, I like that. Makes this double as sweet.” He ran a hand through the coins, letting them clink off the basalt. He raised an imaginary toast to the ceiling: “Thank you, Senator Octavian, for this generous donation! We will put it to good use.”

His brother rolled his eyes at his antics, before turning back to Nico. “Are they still going on about ‘the evil traitor Marc Antony and how he must be punished’? It’s all I’ve ever heard them talk about of late.”

“They are.” Nico confirmed.

Connor put down the silverware. “You have to give it to this Octavian; he’s determined. And he’s got those guys in his pocket.” The two of them exchanged a glance, one of those that Nico could never read. “Do you think this will come to anything?”

“War, you mean? Who knows. We’re not going to be participating in any case, if I can help it.”

“True words. By the by, Ghost; we’ve been successful, too.” Connor flung a small leather bag in Nico’s direction. When he caught it, it jangled meaningfully. “I’ve already subtracted our share. Enjoy the treats.”

Nico nodded, though unlike the two of them he wasn’t planning to spend his share on treats. He had his own growing stash back home. But the Stolls didn’t need to know that.

“Now I’m kind of in the mood to go get a preacher’s honest earnings myself.” Travis announced. He sprang to his feet, waving an as of yet empty bag. “You in?”

“You know I am.” his twin replied. He glanced at Nico. “Do you want to show us your ways?”

Nico considered for a moment and shook his head. He’d already risked enough for one day. With his and the Stoll’s profit taken together, he already had plenty more than he’d planned for. Any more seemed to be pushing his luck. A year on the streets had taught him caution, if nothing else.

“No. I think I’ll be going down to the harbour.” he told them.

“Good hunt.” Travis winked, mistaking his intentions, as they clambered out of the hole. He turned back to Nico, his expression turning serious for half-a-second. He gave Nico a once over, looking as close to hesitant as he or his brother ever came. Sometimes when they did that, it almost looked like they cared about him. “Really nice catch. Just don’t get overconfident, yeah?”

Nico shook his head. He knew what he was doing.

The other grinned, then jogged after his brother who was already mingling with the crowd. Even though they shared everything they got, the two of them had a permanent rivalry going on.

Despite of what the Stolls thought, the people on the harbour needed not fear for their purses today. Not from Nico, anyway.

From their hideout, he followed the small streets downhill. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of blue in between the houses and a fresh, salty breeze whipping through the streets. His feet started to move faster without him planning to. There was nothing in particular compelling him to hurry; he just longed to be at his destination.

The street opened up onto a small plaza. Beyond that, the docks of Ostia spread out in dozens of small bays. Nico stopped to breathe in their distinct smell. A smile stole onto his face. He had always liked the harbour. Something about the brazen winds, the smells and the colourful crowd there made him able to relax and forget about everything else for a while. Nowhere else could you shake hands with a fur-clad Briton one moment and steal from an Egyptian’s loose robes the next. Today, too, a bustling mass of people crowded the docks to either side; a moving carpet of all imaginable colours. Behind the harbour gates, Nico could see the Mediterranean glitter in the sun. Despite himself, he found himself casting a longing look out there. The seemingly endless blue-green emptiness was a promise of adventure, just without reach.

The boy shook his head. No sense in daydreaming. He’d learned the hard way that that got you nothing but trouble. And leaving was the one thing he could never do. Luckily, there were a lot of other things he could focus on at the harbour. There was always interesting figures to be seen or news to be heard. In Rome, with its stern customs and laws, the harbour was a place of relative freedom, where scarcely anybody seemed afraid to speak his mind.

For the last couple of weeks, it had been different, though. There was an underlying uneasiness to everything. The merchants only scarcely paid attention to their customers; too busy whispering to each other. The sailors went about their work as usual, while chatting just a touch too animatedly to be natural. There was an increased presence of soldiers everywhere – with _pila_ , _scuta_ and all; marching along the pier in twos or threes – which normally would have been a calming influence, but now seemed to have the opposite effect.

Here at the docks, you didn’t need a preacher to bring up the topic that had brought all this on. Any important news or rumours always arrived here first, and it never took long for them to spread. Nico caught snippets of conversation here and there:

“Marc Antony…”

“…that whore Cleopatra”

“…building a fleet so large you haven’t seen”

“Think he’ll attack soon?”

 _Civil War_.

That was the word that nobody mentioned and yet was present everywhere, hanging like a thundercloud over the harbour. It had a strange double effect; making some people excited and others uneasy. Sometimes both. Nico knew it would also make them likely to lash out at a short, nosy boy like him if he tried to ask questions. Not that he really cared much. The politics of the Empire were far away, and it wasn’t as if anything was going to change for him. As Travis (Connor?) had put it so well; none of them would be participating.

His gaze wandered across the ships towed in on the docks. Those never lost their fascination. They seemed like their own separate world sometimes – to Nico anyway, who had learned most of what he knew of ships from varyingly drunken sailors. It might be greatly over-romanticized for all he knew. And he’d definitely prefer some over others, if he had the choice: Far on the outskirts of the docks, several tiny, insignificant fisher skiffs rolled in the shadows of the big merchant galleys that took up most of the space. The inner docks, by contrast, belonged to the colourful galleys, coming from all corners of the Empire; with a unique figurehead adorning every prow. Spain; Greece; Tunis. Those were the ones that especially caught Nico’s eye. Not for the first time, he had the overwhelming urge to board one of them and just sail away. Maybe see some of those distant lands for himself that the sailors always talked about.

One day.

There was even a warship just coming into port; a _trireme_ with three rows of oars, double mast, and a nasty bronze ram jutting from its bow. It, at least, looked like it was ready for the war: the deck bristled with soldiers; on its foredeck was mounted a small catapult for boulders and oil urns, while its sides were reinforced with bronze plating. The red letters on the side read _Jupiter’s Wrath_. Though infinitely smaller than the traders’ galleys, its lean form spelled power and grace the likes of which the larger ships could only dream of.

All around, it was an intimidating sight – until Nico noticed the sails. He did a double take: At first he’d thought they had been taken down, but now that the ship docked, he could plainly see that they were, after all, set – there was just barely any sail left. The formerly blood-red cloth was completely cut into ribbons, hanging onto its beams in thin, pitiful threads.

Nico blinked. This was a rare sight. He studied the ship with renewed interest.

The sail looked like a horde of angry cats had raced up and down the rigging. And now that he was looking for it, Nico detected other small defects: the ship had trouble docking; it was almost immeasurably listing to the side. As soon as it managed to come to a stop near the pier, sailors climbed up to cut the damaged sail down, but Nico realized that it wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Long repairs were in order. It wasn’t every day that you saw a Roman warship in such a – yes; _miserable state_ described it pretty well. He wondered what could have done that. He was fairly certain it wasn’t cats.

Nico’s gaze broke away from the ship – and caught on two men who were standing a little ways away from it; on the edge of the crowd. At first he didn’t know what had made them stand out against all the other people on the docks, or why his eyes lingered on them. He frowned. They weren’t doing anything remarkable, but Nico could normally trust his instincts when somebody spelled out trouble. And those two did. _Why?_

Both were fairly young, probably not much older than him. None of the harbour crowd paid them any mind. Understandably so, because, at first glance, they didn’t look that special. The shorter of the two wore loose, almost intentionally mismatched clothing, like a beggar. Despite the heat, he had thick boots on and a big hat on his head; probably had picked up whatever was to hand. The other, with his wild hair, stained leather vest and hole-riddled trousers, plus the short sword strapped to his belt, looked like an out-of-luck mercenary; barely better off than his partner. They were your average poor inhabitants of Rome, trying to find their fortune on the docks. It was an everyday, uninteresting image.

Except that the mercenary held himself with a confidence that belied the image. And his face was clean; sharp features unmarred by dirt or blood. But him into a legionnaire’s uniform, or even a _toga_ , and he would have looked less out of place than in his current outfit.

 _Why would that guy team up with a beggar?_ was the inevitable question. But Nico was fairly sure that that wasn’t why his interest had lingered on the pair. After a few more moments of looking at them, Nico finally saw it: It was their eyes; the way they scanned the crowd. Nico knew that look well; he used it almost on a daily basis. They were looking for potential trouble. The taller was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked ready to spring.

As Nico watched him, he spied the battered trireme on the dock. He nudged his partner and pointed. The other grinned beneath his hat and mimed a slashing move with his arm. Nico could hear their laugher from all the way over the crowd.

 _Huh_.

Too late, Nico realized that he’d been staring. Before he could turn away from the strangers, a pair of eyes met his: the man with the wild hair, looking straight at him; his eyes a flash of deep green underneath his leather helmet. It was the piercing look of someone who knew they’d been watched.

Nico quickly ducked his head and melted back into the crowd. His heart was beating faster, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t in trouble. They couldn’t have seen him for longer than a second. Whatever they were up to – and they were up to something; definitely – chasing after a boy who may or may not have noticed something odd about them would be a waste of time that no one would bother with.

And Nico didn’t intend on bothering them, either. Just to be safe, he headed in the opposite direction, mingling with a group of pilgrims who were headed for a temple of Mercury – coincidentally right next to where the _trireme_ was moored. He hazarded a guess that the two wanted to avoid this area. When the pilgrims reached the marble pillars and were about to head into the cool building, Nico cast a quick look over his shoulder.

The two strangers were gone.

* * *

The sun had retreated below the rooftops by the time Nico was back inside the city’s main walls, and the shadows had started reclaiming the streets. A fresh December chill was in the air, but Nico wasn’t bothered. For some reason, he felt safest during this time of day: In the twilight, Rome was a strange kind of in-between realm. All around him was still the buzz of the city, but little by little it was fading and growing hushed as the first of the consul’s new _vigiles_ appeared for their night patrols, brandishing clubs and pole arms at anyone in their way. The streets began to empty. Nobody wanted to be found outside after curfew. Nico wasn’t too worried. The long shadows were his friends; he had a gift for blending into them and slipping away unseen to anyone’s eye. There weren’t many things he was good at, but that was one of them. Maybe the Stolls were right and he was made to be a thief, after all. Nico grimaced at the thought. Spending his life on Rome’s streets pilfering the locals wasn’t how he envisioned his future.

He made his way along the side streets, until he reached the foothills of the Capitolinus. Up above, the Jupiter Temple’s white marble glowed a bright red in the setting sun. Further down, in the district where Nico was going, the buildings were much less clean. Some had partially fallen into ruin and almost all displayed scorch marks. All that was left of some houses were piles of rubble. Many others were cracked open and deserted.

Nico slipped into an empty doorframe belonging to a two-storey, sideways leaning house. On the second floor, he found his tucked-away alcove and the mattress just as he had left them, arranged into a makeshift bed. His little bronze dagger was still under the pillow; the wooden logs and pieces of coal still lying in the side of the alcove. When he twisted up one of the floorboards, the cloth with his valuable possessions hidden underneath was exactly like he’d left it.

Everything was in its place. Nobody had come in here. Not that Nico expected them to, but it never hurt to check. His body relaxed; finally leaving the wary state he’d committed it to since the moment he’d left the house this morning.

He made his way across the room. When the riots had swept through the streets a few decades prior, they had grazed this building quasi accidentally; leaving the front that was facing the street open to the elements. Nico treated it like his own private balcony. He sat down near the edge. He tilted his head upwards to watch the stars that were starting to appear in the night sky. A sense of calm washed over him at the sight. _Calm_. It was a nice feeling.

A fresh winter wind was blowing over the rooftops and into the hole in the house’s facade, making the boy shiver. It wasn’t an ideal home, especially in this season, but it was what he had. Nico didn’t know what had happened to the original inhabitants. Killed or fled; either way, they had never returned to claim their property, so Nico considered it his. It lay in comfortable distance to the Forum, too, where most of the careless merchants were concentrated. Not that that was the reason why Nico had chosen it.

Just as he sat on the precipice, dangling his legs over the street and not thinking of anything in particular, the actual reason stepped into the street a few houses further down.

The woman was old; with only a handful of grey hair left on her head; her shape in the streetlights hunched over, as always on the rare occasions when she left the brown, square building behind her. To an uninvolved passer-by she probably looked like a frail, kindly old grandmother. Nico, watching from his perch, knew there was nothing frail or, gods forbid, kind about her. As her piercing eyes swept across the façade of her _domus_ and then over the rest of the street, he instinctively shrank a little deeper into the shadows.

A dull glow flickered to life in one of the windows: a stupid, or just unfortunate child who’d assumed their ‘guardian’ was long gone to sleep. The hag’s head snapped up towards the window immediately. Nico flinched as she hobbled back inside. He almost pitied whoever that window belonged to.

 _Ma_ Luna hadn’t changed an ounce since he’d run away. With her clothes billowing around her as she walked, she still looked more like a giant bat than anything else, and about as kind. Even from a distance the signature animal hide coat over her shoulders still looked disgusting; with parts of the former animals still very much visible in places. Had the woman stood directly in front of him, Nico would have gagged at the smell. As it was, in the darkness she hadn’t spied him on his perch. Thankfully.

The brief encounter had soured his view of the night sky. With a sigh, Nico lay down in his alcove and closed his eyes. Today had been a good day: He was still here. _Ma_ Luna and the orphanage were still here. He hadn’t gotten into trouble, and, aside from the short eye contact with the stranger at the harbour, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Why did he even consider that out of the ordinary? His preacher-job was more remarkable, really. Still, the sharp green eyes kept popping up in his memory. _Weird_. He shrugged it off. Blinking his eyes open sleepily, he grasped for a piece of coal and added another small, vertical line to the wall.

Another day done.

* * *

That night, Nico had a very strange dream.

He was stood atop a mountain – which was the first strange thing, since he’d never even seen, let alone climbed one; where did his mind get this image from? – and looking down into a large, green valley. The boy was dimly aware that he was dreaming this, but he was frozen in place, only able to look and take in the scene. The sun was going down, casting the sprawling city down in the valley into shadow.

Nico had never stepped outside the boundaries of Rome, and this city didn’t look a lot like it: it wasn’t nearly as well organized, the streets ran criss-cross everywhere and the buildings in one part didn’t seem to match with the next, as if several smaller cities had simply been thrown together to make a big one. But from its size, a lot of people had to be living here – only that Nico couldn’t see any sign of them.

And that was the next strange thing, and the one that sent a chill down Nico’s spine once he realized it: It was the brightest day and nothing was moving down there; no children in the streets; no movement behind the windows; not even a single animal to be seen anywhere.

It was as if the entire city had collectively fallen asleep, or else left the town in a hurry. A thick mist hung over everything, seeming to cling to the buildings, reinforcing the unsettling image of a ghost town. Somehow, Nico knew that there was something terrible going on.

Nico looked around and noticed for the first time that a man was standing up here with him. He was tall and lean, clad in what looked like comfortable traveling gear. The man glanced sideways at Nico, his eyes shining almost golden in the sunset, but it was as if he was looking through him. “The Trident.” he said for some reason, and then: “Finally.”

Dream-Nico never got the chance to inquire: an ear-splitting screech cut through the air, almost making him jump off the cliff. He pressed both hands over his ears. He had never heard a more horrible noise. A second later, he spied the source: a winged shadow shot out of the sky, coming straight for them – only there was no them anymore: the man had just vanished into thin air, leaving Nico alone on the mountaintop. He just had time to think that perhaps he should run as well when the thing was suddenly right on top of him, its screech almost making his eardrums burst.

Nico jolted awake, gasping for breath. He could swear he’d felt sharp talons at his throat.


	2. The Ship Without a Figurehead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the nightmare, Nico headed out into night-time Rome to get a clear head.

The night air was cool on Nico’s skin, covering it in goose bumps.

It was a sensation so real that it washed away the traces of the nightmare. Which was the reason why Nico had come down here to the harbour despite the curfew and despite his usual need for safety.

He didn’t have any real direction or goal where he was going as he strolled along the pier, kicking absentmindedly at the odd crab that had lost its way onto the stones. The harbour at night was incomparable to the one by daylight, with the only noise being the waves lapping on the docks and the low curses of the sailors who hadn’t finished their work yet. It was silent, and it allowed Nico’s thoughts to wander.

Lately, he did that a lot. Lack of sleep might be a factor: his nightmares had gotten more frequent as the first anniversary of his life on the streets drew nearer. He didn’t know why. Twelve years in Ma Luna’s orphanage had naturally not helped with the images that his mind conjured up at night, but they hadn’t made them worse, either. But from day one of living in that abandoned building opposite the orphanage, the nightmares had suddenly gotten, for lack of a better word, sharper. They felt more real somehow. And this latest one…

Nico huffed in annoyance. “Stupid.” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure whether that meant himself, the nightmares or this city; or all of the above. Not that it differed that much, really. The truth was he was getting sick of it all.

Every few hundred metres, the darkness was broken by lights. They were radiating from tavern windows, as Nico noted absently. According to curfew rules they should have closed hours ago, but nobody ever seemed in a hurry to enforce this particular rule. Nico himself wasn’t very fond of taverns, but he was in a very small minority there, and attempting to shut one down would most likely lead to open rebellion, he thought dryly.

Lost in his thoughts, Nico had scarcely paid attention to where he was going. So when a loud, shrill noise suddenly erupted from his left, he jumped about three feet into the air and in the process almost tripped off the quay and into the water. At the last second, he managed to catch himself and turn his tumble into a dive behind the stashes of rope that lay coiled by the quay edge. Heart beating fast, he waited for the ambush.

Nothing happened. Instead, the noise started again, bleating, irregular and loud; like an entire herd of goats fighting over juicy grass. After a few seconds of wide eared listening, Nico finally realized that it was someone laughing – albeit _laughing_ was a very generous classification. Not an ambush, then. His tense muscles loosened up a little. _Stupid_ , he thought once again. He was getting far too jumpy lately.

The laugh was coming from the ship he was crouched next to. From what little he could see of it from up close, it looked like one of the traders’ galleys, judging by the low deck and bright paint. The pile of barrels and ropes that provided his cover basically brushed its hull, and right where he sat, at eye level, Nico could read the ship’s name painted on the side, spelling out _Tide_ in bold blue letters. Something about it looked odd somehow, but Nico couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

The strange laugh meanwhile had dissolved into a ragged cough. Now that the speaker was no longer drowning out everything else, Nico could make out other voices from the deck; at least four if his ears didn’t deceive him. Which they usually didn’t. The thought process that his mind started in turn was deeply ingrained and indicative of how much time he’d spent with the twins this past year: exactly where the people stood; how much money they probably had; if they had it on them; and, most importantly, where he could run to should the need arise.

Nico shook his head in irritation. That was not what he was here for. All he’d wanted to do was get some air. The voices didn’t sound like they belonged to _vigiles_ , so he could probably just stand up and walk away…

Then one of the voices hummed “Let’s go.”

Instinctively, Nico crouched deeper behind his hiding place, as if they could have heard what he’d just thought about. Irrational as that reflex was, Nico was grateful for it. Thief or no, he was only fourteen and he didn’t want to be found out here at this time of night – while most sailors probably wouldn’t be cruel (or sober) enough to hand him over to the _vigiles_ , you never knew for sure. He heard several pairs of feet descending the gangway, and ducked a little lower. “I still can’t believe Memnos pulled that off!” a male voice was saying. To Nico’s relief, it didn’t seem to be aware of the boy overhearing it in from his hiding place a few feet away. “Surely _somebody_ will notice it eventually.”

“What are you talking about; we’re perfectly disguised. In fact, I’d go so far as to say we’re the best undercover agents there ever were!” a second voice replied. It was lighter than the first, and practically echoed with mirth. “Not even those stupid Romans themselves will know we’re the ship that got the-…”

“Unless you yell it out even more loudly.” interrupted a third voice, deep as Tartarus. Nico could swear he heard his teeth rattle with its low baritone. A huge shadow swept over his hiding place as the trio went past. “Your mouth is going to get you killed someday, Valdez. You do realize we’re in Rome, don’t you?”

“Please; how many people here will understand Greek?”

“More than you probably think. So keep your voice down.”

_Wait. Greek?_

Nico frowned, rubbed his ears a few times and rolled the conversation once over in his head. To him, it had sounded like plain Latin. Mainly because he didn’t know any other language; certainly not Greek, so it was impossible that he would have understood a word otherwise. It must have been a joke, he decided. As was probably the part about the ‘undercover agents’…

The trio had passed right by him, their voices growing fainter. They were heading away from the quay and into the city. It looked like he was in the clear.

In hindsight, or viewed with any form of common sense, this was the point where he should have left well enough alone. He should have avoided any further nightly meetings and gone on his merry way back to his ‘home’. He shouldn’t have peeked over the rim of the barrels, looking were the three strange people were going. He definitely shouldn’t have slipped out from behind his cover to follow them.

Alas, as Nico would reflect much later, his common sense had all around been strangely absent that night. He would blame it on the nightmare and his stupid curiosity.

He trailed his objects of interest with just enough distance to still be in earshot. Even by night, the trio made for an odd sight. The one with the deep voice was instantly recognizable: his giant, bulky frame was reminiscent of a mountain and made him tower over his colleagues. Nico’s first thought was that the guy had to be a gladiator or something; because even the tallest sailors he’d encountered would have had to look up at him. The second man by contrast seemed tiny; a boy’s thin silhouette, with pointy ears sticking out against the night lights. He was turning around every now and then to check if they were being followed, which gave Nico a good look at his face. He had an impish look about him reminiscent of the Stolls, and it was easy to identify him as the cocky one of the bunch. And the third – probably the owner of that bleating laugh – was none other than the beggar from the docks, Nico realized after taking in his silhouette. He was still wearing his ridiculous hat. His mercenary companion was absent, though.

Over the course of twelve months on the streets, Nico had made a habit of trusting his instincts, and right now his instincts were telling him that this was the most intriguing conversation and group of people he had overheard all week. A good thief needed to be careful, but also curious. So the Stolls claimed, anyway. In Nico’s experience, his own curiosity had usually landed him in nothing but trouble, so he sometimes chose to ignore it. Now, though, it was screaming overwhelmingly in his head, demanding he follow these people. And follow he did. Just for a bit, and always in the shadows. They’d never even see him.

“…hope to all the gods he knows what he’s doing this time.” the impish one was saying. Nico risked moving up a little further to catch the response.

“Course he does. When does he not?”

“You want me to answer that chronologically, or alphabetically?”

“No.” the bulky one deadpanned.

“Aw. You Greeks really are no fun. I wonder why I’m even bothering with you.”

“Because you blew up a barrack full of Romans and needed a quick ride out, if I might remind you.” the beggar with the hat stated, sounding indignant.

“Are you still cross about that? It was an accident. And anyway; now who’s the one broadcasting our secrets in definitely-very-understandable Greek?”

“By all the gods; why are we bringing him along?!”

“Let’s have that debate after we get back, alright? We got to focus while we’re here.” The giant’s tone effectively settled the matter.

And yes; Nico could still understand them all perfectly fine. The Greek thing had to be some kind of private joke, he decided. He wondered whether the part about the Roman barrack had also been one. Regardless; they apparently weren’t Romans and didn’t seem to be all too fond of them – as Nico had already surmised from watching the beggar and his companion earlier. Very courageous – or foolhardy – of them to announce that so openly, though. He knew that he probably should not meddle, but at this point his curiosity was just too strong. The strange trio headed for a ray of light that came from an open doorframe, and entered the building.

When Nico made to follow them, he suddenly felt a chill prickle down his neck. It was a familiar sensation; one that usually meant he was being watched. He spun on his heel, looking behind him. The street was empty, but there was something about it that made his skin crawl. Somehow the shadows seemed darker than before. Unsettled, Nico quickly hurried after the trio through the lit doorway.

The tavern he stepped into was not the type one considered respectable. The people who frequented it certainly weren’t. Nico wouldn’t have come here under normal circumstances, but at least this type of establishment always guaranteed something interesting happening. Or someone. The three people he’d followed pushed their way past a group of half-drunk sailors and ordered at the bar, with Nico slinking into a chair a few seats away. They paid in silver _denarii_ , earning them a few curious looks. This building did not see the precious silver coins with the consul’s face often. They seemed to be well off. Of course, Nico had already known that. There was a lot more valuable metal hidden under their coats.

That was another thing for the made-to-be-a-thief-list: Nico could always tell when someone was carrying something valuable, and where it was. It was almost like such things called to him. Freaked a boy right out when he called the correct cup the coin was under four times in a row (He had been only five then. The boy had never played with him again.) Nico didn’t know how he did it, but years later he had stopped to question it. It was an ability that had certainly come in handy, and it had helped him survive his first year on the streets. And right now this instinct told him that, besides the coins, two of his targets also had bronze swords hidden under their clothing. Probably a good thing then that he wasn’t trying to rob them. He was just going to listen. The pot-bellied innkeeper gave him a quick once over, but otherwise didn’t seem to have a problem with a minor ordering a drink in his tavern. Nico scooted a few seats closer to the trio and sipped at his wine. Just another inconspicuous tavern regular.

Inconspicuous, but perfectly within earshot. He just caught the latter half of the impish one’s sentence, right as he was elbowing the giant: “…always have to worry so much?”

“I worry as much as I have to.” the giant rumbled back. “Since you obviously don’t; I have to keep an eye on you. While you’re around, worrying is my job.”

The impish boy didn’t seem to take offence to that statement. “You’re really just here for intimidation purposes, big guy. Worrying is Grover here’s job.”

“Hey!” the boy with the hat protested.

Nico had to strain a bit to make out their conversation over the rush of voices. So far, they seemed to be just joking around; as most sailors did after a long day. He was starting to wonder if his curiosity about them was even warranted. So these fellows were a bit odd and had a lot of money. So what? This was Rome. Odd was normal here.

The innkeeper returned with a new armful of mugs. He placed three of them in front of the trio. Then he leaned in, in manner that was so casual as to be conspicuous. “Anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?”

The impish one lowered his voice and Nico couldn’t understand any more of the conversation. He had to avert his eyes when the one with the hat – Grover, apparently – looked around the tavern, spying for potential listeners; like Nico. It seemed like this was a routine they had performed many times before, further confirming his instincts that they were up to something. But if so, they weren’t as inconspicuous as they were probably thinking. Perhaps he could report them to the _vigiles_ , Nico considered idly. Who knew; depending on what was going on there, he might even get a reward. Though, those men that patrolled Rome’s streets at this time of night were more thugs than law enforcers themselves, and dealing with them probably spelled more trouble for him than it was worth.

Meanwhile, the impish boy didn’t seem very satisfied with what the inn keep told him, judging by his growing frown. Nonetheless, when the man was finished, he slipped him an extra _denar_. The inn keep pocketed it with a grin. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.”

“Don’t forget it, Marcus. We always come through, no matter the odds.”

“I’d never doubt it.” the inn keep chuckled. “But still, if I were you, I wouldn’t be staying around here for too long. Take that as some well-meant advice.”

As soon as he was off for the next customer, the three huddled together.

“Great. Just great. What now?” the impish one wanted to know.

“I need another drink.” the giant decided.

“This is a mess.” Grover said nervously. He took a large gulp from his mug. Then he took just as large a bite out of it.

Nico stared, forgetting for a moment to be inconspicuous. The guy hiccupped once and sat the mug back down as if nothing had happened, now with a noticeable chunk of it missing. His companions continued their conversation, apparently unbothered.

_Huh?_

“Any more for you, young man?”

Nico started, being addressed so suddenly. The inn keep was looking at him expectantly. Nico hadn’t even realized he had drained his cup of wine already. “No thanks, I’ll pay.” he blurted, laying a _denar_ onto the table. That was far too much for what he’d ordered, but he didn’t care in that moment. On his way out, he suddenly bumped into someone and startled again, but when he turned to look, there was no one there. The trio of men was still sitting by the bar, not one of them looking at him.

Nico breathed in deeply when he felt the cool night air again. He was starting to imagine things, he decided. _Must be the wine_. He usually never drank. Which was why his night out really should end at this point. Forget any possible reward, or whatever was going on with this group. Resolved, he made his way back the way he’d come.

The quay was still deserted. There was the ship. The streetlamp beside it had flickered out and with its dark blue hull the _Tide_ was little more than a shadow against the water. Now that he could look at it with some distance, Nico noted that it was easily one of the sleekest ships on the docks, excluding perhaps the trireme. And it didn’t carry around a number of catapults or a heavy figurehead, like the warship. If it were to come down to a chase between the two… Nico startled, losing that train of thought. He looked down at the water. For a second, he’d thought he’d seen something that looked like a – like a _human head_ sticking out from the brine. But now there were just the waves lapping at the quay.

He shook his head. Nobody was mad enough to willingly swim in the harbour. The water was probably toxic with how much waste got swept into it via the sewers. Just the wine.

He had almost managed to walk past the ship – already the source of a lot of irritation, all things considered – when his eyes caught once again on the name painted on the side. Then his steps slowed and stopped. _Tide_. Under his present circumstances, Nico shouldn’t have wasted a second on that. Not an uncommon name for a ship. In spite of that, his eyes lingered. _There’s something wrong with it_ , insisted his instincts.

He stared at the bold letters. Slowly – wedged in between the self-accusations that he really should be going; what was he still doing here? – he realized that what had caught his attention were the large empty spaces in between the letters. Really abnormally wide spaces. They made it look like whoever had painted them hadn’t been able to judge distance properly. Or like the letters that should have filled those spaces had been removed for some reason, and the name was actually supposed to say something different.

For the third time that day, Nico caught himself going _huh_.

Later, he would once more blame his stupid curiosity for everything that happened next. That and the wine. What else could explain why, before he could so much as think _This is a terrible idea_ , he found himself creeping across the deck of this strange ship?

There was a guard on the aft deck, leaning against the rudder in evident boredom, but they never saw Nico. Small and skinny as he was, he had a talent for blending in with the shadows. It was a talent that had more than once saved him from beatings when he crept into his dorm late at night, back when he’d still lived in Ma Luna’s orphanage. Now it allowed him to creep unnoticed over the deck of the ship and disappear into the cabin below the rudder.

He figured this was the captain’s quarters, and he wasn’t disappointed: the spacious cabin he found himself in was richly decorated, with swords and shields and even a painting of what looked like a tall mountain hanging from the walls. Through a narrow window at the back, the moonlight illuminated the room. For some reason, there was no central bed, just several hammocks hanging from the ceiling. Nico frowned. _Odd,_ he thought once again. Then he turned his attention to the tables set against the back wall.

Even had he not made his living as a thief, the sight of what lay on them would have probably made his heart beat faster. There were rings, arrows, a ludicrous amount of loose bronze pieces Nico didn’t know the purpose of, a few navigational instruments that he didn’t recognize; even an ornate dagger was buried half-way into the wood. It was a cluster of shiny things; most seemed to be made from bronze, but not all.

At the back lay three rings, made from a black material Nico didn’t recognize. Each was inlaid with a socket, like the ones he’d seen nobles in the city wear. Only, where those contained rubies or sapphires, these sockets were filled with what looked like sand. When Nico picked one up and put it on experimentally, the sand started to churn like a maelstrom.

_And there I thought nothing could surprise me anymore tonight._

Staring at the strange ring, Nico laughed lightly. He was feeling the familiar rush of energy that came with trespassing on someone’s space and going through their possessions. He truly hadn’t meant to steal anything when he snuck aboard this ship, but presented with such opportunities…

His experienced eyes went on to scan the assortment of valuables for what was least likely to be missed. Not the rings, obviously. If he took those, he’d have a hunt on his tail. The bronze pieces would be the logical choice, but they were also the least valuable. Then Nico saw the maps.

They were stashed in behind the desk, seemingly with much more care than anything else in this cabin. One, appropriately depicting Rome, was splayed out on the table while about seven other scrolls were neatly folded into a box. Slowly, careful not to disturb the order, Nico unfolded one of them and, by the light of the moon, looked over it. And soon lost himself in it.

There was so much. Sicily. Greece. Egypt. Places he had longed to see ever since he could remember, and many more he had never even heard of: Crete. Persia. Bosporia. The Great Western Sea. And the white dots on the edges of the map that suggested there was so much more. Nico forced himself to blink before he could get lost in daydreams of those places. With effort, he managed to tear away from the map and unfolded another. This one showed just Greece, but in much more detail. There were literally hundreds of places marked, and for every name Nico recognised, like Korinth, Athens and Delphi, there were dozens he’d never even heard of. The world was so vast.

For Nico, who had spent his entire life in Rome, it was almost too much to comprehend. The boy’s heart leapt in his chest. Alone in the dark cabin, where no one could see, he allowed himself to hope. Someday, his waiting would be over, and then they would leave this city and never look back. First they would go to Egypt. He’d see those mythical beasts with the long snouts he’d heard the sailors talk about. Then they’d sail to Greece. Or Persia? Or…

Nico lost track of time. He continued pouring over the maps until his eyes burned. Minutes or hours might have passed; he wouldn’t have been able to tell. In his concentration, he at first didn’t even hear the footsteps descending from the aft deck and approaching the cabin. When he did, it was almost too late.

His heart jumping into his throat, he hurried over to the wall and pressed himself behind the door, just as it swung inwards and someone entered. The guard. Thankfully, they didn’t look behind them but headed straight for the other end of the room. By the time they were two feet away from the map table, Nico was already outside making his getaway. The deck was deserted. No one in sight. Time to run.

By the Stoll’s standards, this venture was a complete failure. He was leaving with nothing but nervousness boiling in his stomach and the memory of a few beautiful maps burned into his mind. And yet Nico felt elated. It was a rush as if he’d just pulled off an especially successful theft. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this excited; especially not so soon after one of his nightmares. This was something different, something else than his everyday life in the streets of Rome. He felt good.

For a few seconds, at least. Only when he was halfway across the deck did he stop dead in his tracks. A movement on his hand had caught his eye. He stared at his finger.

The swirling black ring stared back.

The thing was so light and fit so perfectly that he had forgotten he was still wearing it. Suppressing a curse, Nico turned on his heels, intending to place it back in the captain’s cabin. He couldn’t believe himself. Why had he done this? The ring had to be worth a fortune. It would not go well for him if the owner discovered it was missing, or, even worse, if the _vigiles_ happened to catch him wearing it. He had a feeling that not getting a reward would be the least of his worries then. He ran back across the deck as fast as he could without making a sound.

Which turned out to be a good decision, since this time he could instantly hear the footsteps and voices when they approached.

“…not our lucky day. This is a complete mess.” one said.

“I mean, it could be worse. We’ve only got _half_ the empire on our tail.” a second replied.

“You are one hopeless optimist. That’s only because the other half will soon be at war with this one.”

Nico recognized both voices. It was the beggar and the impish one. The trio from the tavern had made its way back. They were already at the walkway.

Nico’s brain went into overdrive. His panicked looks found a group of barrels and bags stacked together near the mast, just a few feet away. Without a second thought, he dived in between them. He knocked against something hard and pain flared in his shoulder, but he ignored it. At the last possible second, he drew his feet in behind him.

“Besides, who else would – what was that?” the first voice called.

“What? Something wrong?” the giant’s deep baritone asked.

Between his barrels, Nico stopped breathing.

“I thought I heard…” The beggar’s voice got closer. It sounded like he was sniffing the air. His boots made an odd sound when they hit the deck, a _clock-clock_ almost like pieces of wood banging together.

Nico crouched down as far as was possible, praying to the gods that the guy wouldn’t think to check behind the barrels. A creaking of the cabin’s door told Nico that the guard had just come out to join the group, increasing the number of eyes on the deck to at least eight. No way could he move now.

“There you are; took you long enough.” said a voice that had to belong to the guard. To Nico’s surprise, it sounded feminine, but it was so rough that it could have easily been mistaken for a man’s. “Grover, why are you looking so peeved?”

The _clock-clock_ stopped. “You didn’t notice anything? I could have sworn I heard someone…right here…”

“I didn’t hear anything.” the impish one contributed.

“Has he been on the furniture again? I think I’d know if someone was on board.” the guard stated.

“Just ate half a mug as far as I know. Don’t tell me you actually drank wine while we weren’t looking, Grover!”

“I didn’t! It’s just…” There was a miffed huff. “Huh. It’s this city; it’s messing with my senses. Must’ve imagined it.”

“I’d say it’s more the wine. It isn’t good for you, man. Makes you hear all kinds of stuff.”

More people were coming on deck now. All around him, Nico felt footsteps, some coming up from below deck, others boarding the ship via the ramp. “What’s Grover hearing?” asked a new voice. Young, male. Humorous, but with an undertone Nico couldn’t identify. For some reason, it made him think of surf on the beach.

“Intruders, captn. The Romans are coming to get us.” replied the impish one.

“That’s not funny.” the beggar muttered.

“It’s a bad sign that I couldn’t actually tell if you were joking there, Leo.” the one he’d called captain replied. “But I’m gathering your visit to Marcus went without a problem, then?”

“Yup. Though from what he told us, we really shouldn’t be sticking around, or there’ll be more than enough problems coming our way before long.”

“That checks out with what I’ve learned.” the captain agreed. Nico’s attentive ear could make out a hint of worry beneath his easy answer. “Well, no point in staying any moment longer then. Everyone’s back? Then let’s get everything ready and head out. With any luck they won’t even know we were here.”

“Good thing. I don’t like this city.” said the beggar. The _clop-clop_ started again as he walked past Nico’s hiding place.

“It’s not that bad.” the impish one disagreed. “Ah, captn? Just, could you talk to your da and ask him kindly not to shake us through as much as last time? I kind of figured we’d get family perks, you know.”

The other laughed. “You figured wrong. Making life interesting is how he shows me he loves me.”

“Some love that is.”

“If you had a son like him, wouldn’t you do the same?” the rough voice of the guard chimed in.

“Hm. Yeah. Yeah, probably.”

“Hey, that’s disrespectful! I’m still your captain, you know.”

“Oh. A thousand apologies, your captainness!”

Someone snickered.

The captain sighed: “Just loosen the ropes, will you. And give Memnos a warning this time, before he complains again.”

“As you say, captn!”

Nico’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest. He didn’t understand all that he had just heard there, but one thing was clear: they were about to cast off. With him still on board. He had to get off this ship. All around him, Nico now heard hectic activity. Commands were shouted across the deck, mostly followed by insults being shouted right back. A pair of feet thundered past just inches from his barrels. Nico barely suppressed a yelp. Very belatedly, he realized that he had picked the worst possible hiding spot if he wanted to make a quick exit. He was right in the middle of the deck. The second he moved, at least half a dozen pairs of eyes would be on him. He doubted they’d be happy about finding a stowaway on board, either – especially one with their ring on his finger. Nico wanted to scream at himself. Why did he do these things? He should have just minded his own business. He should have just stayed in bed.

Too late for that now.

The unlucky thief considered his options. The railings were only a few feet away. As far as he could tell, none of the crew was currently on his right hand side. Even if they’d see him, he would have been able to run and jump overboard. The only problem was; it was the railing facing the harbour. And he couldn’t swim.

“Hey!” a voice rumbled, right above him.

Suddenly, Nico was lifted into the air. He yelped involuntarily, flailing and kicking out, but the giant of a man who had grabbed him by the tunic didn’t even flinch. If from a distance he had looked like a mountain, that image didn’t lose any impact from up close. If anything, he just looked like a larger mountain. And he held Nico up like he was nothing more than a feather.

“What do we have here? You don’t belong on board, I don’t think.” he said.

Nico squirmed, trying to get out of his grasp, but to no avail.

“Hey. What have you got there, Beckendorf?”

“A stowaway! I told you I heard something!”

“Oh, by all the gods; it’s just a kid. Let him down.”

Nico barely had a second to brace himself before he was abruptly let go. His already injured shoulder protested at the renewed painful contact with the deck, and for a moment that was all he could focus on. Then he looked up.

He was surrounded by easily the strangest group of people he had ever seen. And Nico could have spent a while just staring at the giant who could have made grown seamen scream for their mothers; or the guy with the unkempt black hair that rivalled Nico’s in terms of messiness, who was looking at him curiously; or the girl with the spikey hair and startlingly blue eyes who was pointing a very sharp spear at his face. Especially the latter should have probably demanded all his intention.

But in truth, all Nico could focus on was the guy on the far right, the beggar with the bleating laugh and ridiculous hat, who had the lower half of a goat. A goat. With fur, hooves and all.

Yes. He’d definitely had too much wine.

“Who in the name of Hades are you?” questioned the girl, poking the spear at his chest. She was the one with the rough voice. Apparently standing next to a goat man didn’t faze her at all. Nor any of the others, for that matter. “How did you get on board?”

“Uh – it was an accident.” Nico found his voice. Technically, it wasn’t even a lie. His eyes flicked back and forth between the spear tip and the lower half of the beggar. He blinked, waiting for the hooves to disappear and something normal to take their place, but nothing of the sort happened. _Well, that explains the noise at least_ , a detached part of his mind noted. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m just gonna leave.”

“Just as soon as you give that ring back.” said a voice. The air in front of Nico started to shimmer and suddenly another person was standing where there had most certainly not been one a second ago. They took off what looked like a centurion’s helmet, revealing a rush of blonde hair and a set of grey eyes that fixed Nico with a piercing look. “He’s been following you since the tavern. I think he’s been in our cabin, too.”

Nico stared at the girl, unable to even process her words. _Where had she just come from?!_ He would have loved to blame this on the wine, too, but that explanation only worked for so long. His mind couldn’t have come up with everything he was currently seeing even if he’d tried. Goat men? Invisible people? Considering the absurdity of what was happening, he thought he was still handling the situation pretty well.

Until the figurehead bent around the prow.

“Oh look at that; you’ve picked up another one.” At first, Nico didn’t know who had said that; too transfixed on the suddenly appeared girl. Then something tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around to find himself staring down the prongs of a trident pointed at his face. At the other end, holding the weapon aloft was what looked to Nico’s poor, confused mind like a statue of a wizened old man. Its body, gleaming bronze in the torchlight, was stretched grotesquely long until it’s lower half disappeared behind the railing. It was covered in brine from the harbour.

Then it moved. And spoke. One hand left the trident to stroke its chin; deep in thought. “Don’t like the look of ‘im. But I s’pose I could carry one more. Not that anyone’d ask my opinion, anyway.”

The world started to spin around Nico. The last thing he felt before the darkness took him were a pair of arms catching him before he hit the deck.


End file.
